


Cuttingly Numb

by mourninghope (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Inflicted Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mourninghope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of his mother, Stiles begins to have trouble coping; everything feels too big and yet he's numb, so painfully numb.  Just after his 18th birthday he's diagnosed with a mental health disorder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2009

**Author's Note:**

> This is a departure from the other work I've posted. I'm going to dig in and tackle a very difficult subject with as much care as I'm able. Be advised that tags may change and that at times this will be very dark.
> 
> If you have questions about any of the behavior Stiles displays, don't hesitate to ask, but know that a lot of what I plan on putting him through fits with the diagnostic criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder as per the DSM V and the ICD 10.

Stiles brushed the pad of his thumb back and forth along the flat of the razorblade before laying the sharp edge against his thigh and applying firm pressure. He dragged the blade across his pale flesh, inhaling sharply at the bright, burning sting of pain. Blood welled in the shallow, inch long cut and Stiles sobbed, a single, ragged sound that was punched from his gut as the wound overflowed and the blood rolled down the inside of his thigh like a tiny river, parting around the small cluster of moles in its path before falling, drop by fat drop to the pristine white linoleum beneath the young man’s thigh. 

With careful fingers, he wiped the blade with a square of alcohol soaked toilet paper then set it aside on a small square of black cloth that he had carefully cut from the hem of his mother’s favorite dress. Blinking away a single tear, Stiles picked up the alcohol swab sitting next to the bit of cloth and carefully cleaned the blood from his thigh, hissing at the sting of it when he ran the little square over the cut itself. Quickly, he folded a pad of gauze over the wound and taped it down, making sure there were no gaps.

He stood slowly, ignoring the way his body trembled from the adrenalin rush, and dropped a rag over the little pool of blood; he wiped it up with his foot, picking the rag up with his toes and tossing it into the trash. Staring at himself in the mirror, Stiles grabbed his slacks off the closed toilet and pulled them on; he tucked in his plain black dress shirt then buttoned up. Satisfied with his appearance, he finished cleaning up the bathroom and headed down to the kitchen.

“Hey, kiddo.” John glanced up at his son as Stiles laid a hand on his father’s shoulder. The sheriff looked tired; his eyes were sunken and red rimmed. His skin was pale, and cold when Stiles pressed his thumb against the man’s throat. 

“Hey, Dad.” Pressing a kiss to the top of his dad’s head, Stiles drifted away, his eyes skimming over the sea of casserole dishes and crudité trays littering their counter. He poured two cups of coffee then sat down at the table, pushing one towards the sheriff. 

“How you doing, Stiles,” John asked as he dragged the mug closer.

“I’m okay. I mean, Mom’s gone but you’re still here and stuff. I’ve still got Scott. And Derek.” He shrugged and dropped a hand beneath the table, pressing his fingers into the cut. “You okay? Obviously, no but you will be, right? Cause I can’t go through this again.” 

“Hey. Son. I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll get through this.” John offered his son a tired smile and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Yeah. Kay.” Nodding, Stiles reached for his coffee just as the doorbell rang. He sighed. “I’ll get it.”

The twelve year old eased open the door, shoulders hunching as he saw yet another casserole dish. He looked up and offered Mrs. Hale a tired, watery smile. “Hi, Mrs. Hale. Hey Derek,” he added as a very cold, very wet nose was thrust into his hand. “Would you like to come in?” Stiles stepped back from the door and Derek bolted inside; as soon as the adolescent’s paws hit the hardwood he went sliding, ending in a sprawl up against the bottom of the couch.

Talia smiled gently when Derek’s antics teased a little giggle out of the boy. “Just for a minute, Stiles. Your dad’s in the kitchen, yes?” She stepped gracefully into the house and Stiles closed the door before meandering to the sofa.

Derek scrambled onto the sofa and draped himself across Stiles’ lap as the boy sat down. Whining, the young wolf, licked Stiles’ chin then settled down, closing his eyes as the boy started scratching behind his ears. 

“I miss her already, Derek,” he whispered, curling over the wolf to bury his nose in the thick fur. “It’s not fair. So not fair.”


	2. 2011

Derek sneezed, teeth clacking when his snout slammed into the floor. Stiles bit back a laugh and ruffled the fur at the ruff of his neck. “Dude, if you shifted, you could totally help me with this algebra. And y’know, quit banging your muzzle against the floor every frickin’ time you sneeze, Mr. ‘It’s just a cold’. I mean, you chipped a fang yesterday.”

Derek curled his upper lip in a silent snarl.

“For cereal, dude!” Chortling, Stiles bent to drop a kiss to the wolf’s shiny black nose and ended up planting a smacking wet one between very human eyes which set him off into round of helpless laughter.

Derek furrowed his brows and wiped away the slobber, a tiny grin tugging at his lips. “You are such a nut. Anyway, what’s up with the math,” he asked, swinging around to sit next to the younger teen, shoulder to shoulder.

“I might be a nut but you luuuuurve me anyways!” Stiles slapped his notebook into Derek’s lap and grabbed his textbook, flipping through the pages. “This is just… How the heck do I reduce this?”

Derek plucked the pencil from behind Stiles’ ear and gnawed on it idly as he studied the problem. Stiles snuggled into his side, soaking up the heat radiating off of the other’s body; he stole back his pencil and started writing as Derek explained the first step. 

“I think you’ve got it.” Derek offered Stiles one of his beautiful but rare smiles.

Stiles beamed and started the next problem, Derek a comfortable weight against his side. “Y’know,” he said softly, “I love it when you’re all fluffy and cuddly and stuff but, um… This is kinda nice too.”

Derek blushed and tucked his chin to his chest. “Yeah, it kinda is. I just… It’s easier as the wolf. Simpler, you know? People give me space unless I make the first move. I get cuddles without all the drama. It’s nice.”

“Drama?”

“The whole dating and mating shtick. There’s no pressure as the wolf.”

“So… You don’t want to date? Find some nice little she-wolf and settle down? Have a ton of pups or cubs or… Or whatever?”

“I uh… I’m already taken.” Listen, Stiles, I gotta go. Promised Mom I’d help with dinner.” Derek knocked shoulders with Stiles and stood. 

Stiles drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He stared up at Derek with wide eyes, color high in his cheeks; the wolf brushed his palm across Stiles’ head, then shoved his hands in his pockets and retreated quickly.

+++

Derek frowned at his mom as she burst into the kitchen, cell phone clutched in one perfectly manicured hand, the other buried in her long, dark hair. “Mom?”

“Why don’t you sit down honey? I’m going to make us some tea, okay? Need to talk to you about something.” She looked at Derek like her heart was breaking and he sank heavily into the nearest chair, watching her with wide eyes. 

“What’s wrong, Mom,” he asked softly as she snatched the kettle off the stove and stalked to the sink to fill it.

Talia sighed and tossed her phone onto the counter; she gently set the kettle aside and braced her hands on the edge of the sink, taking three slow, deep breaths before she turned to face her only son. Raking a hand back through her hair, she regarded him quietly for a long minute then licked her lips and moved to settle in the chair beside him. “I just got off the phone with Sheriff Stilinski, Der.”

“Okay… You’re kinda scaring me here, Mom.” Derek turned to face his mom, green eyes widening as he watched a tear track down her cheek. “Mommy?”

“He’s going to be okay but, um…” Exhaling hard, Talia braced her elbows on her knees and captured Derek’s hands. “Stiles is in the hospital, baby.” 

“What? No. I was just there, Mom. Like two hours ago. Less than.” Derek clutched at his mother’s hands, blinking rapidly. 

“I know, sweetheart. But… Derek, I want you to promise me that no matter how bad things get you won’t ever hurt yourself, okay?”

“Mom?”

“Just promise me, okay?”

“I-I promise. I promise but… I don’t understand,” he whined, tugging his hands out of Talia’s grasp to run shaking fingers through his hair. 

“John found Stiles in the upstairs bathroom about thirty or forty minutes after you left. He’d um…” Talia paused and licked her lips. “He’d cut himself, pretty badly. Apparently, at least according to John, this isn’t the first time he’d done this, not that the Sheriff knew. Anyways, John couldn’t stop the bleeding and had to call for an ambulance.” 

“He cut himself? I mean… Stiles wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t,” he snapped, surging to his feet when Talia reached out for him. “Not Stiles.” 

“Derek, he’s going to be okay. He needed a handful of stitches and he’s probably going to be at the hospital for a few days. Maybe a week,” she said gently, standing to put a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“Why’d he do it, Mom?” Derek leaned into Talia’s touch and scrubbed at his face. 

“I don’t know, baby. He hasn’t said much. John said that we can go up and see him tomorrow. Okay?”

Nodding jerkily, Derek slipped away from his mom and headed for the stairs, melting into his lupine form between one step and the next.


	3. 2012

Derek nosed open the door and slunk into the too-quiet room, leaving his mom talking to Mrs. McCall in the hallway. The room was dark except for a stream of sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds to illuminate the bed with its single, too-still occupant; Stiles’ hand hung off the side and Derek padded close to lick the still, pale fingers, nose wrinkling at the scent of dried blood and pain. 

Whining, he inched his way onto the bed, one paw at a time and curled close against Stiles’ side, pressing his nose into the boy’s jutting hip. He sighed when fingers dug into the thick fur of his neck and rolled his eyes up to meet Stiles’ sad, amber-eyed gaze. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Stiles rasped, closing his eyes as he turned his cheek into the pillow. 

Derek growled softly and carefully laid his head on Stiles’ soft belly. 

“Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself? I just… I saw you with Isaac and… I kinda freaked out.” 

Derek flicked an ear and sneezed, narrowing his eyes at Stiles as the teen glanced down at him. 

“If you shifted you’d probably tell me that I was stupid. That there was no reason to flip out. But… I just got all tangled up and I couldn’t… I didn’t understand what I was feeling and then I got kinda numb and it just happened.” Stiles fingers dug into the wolf’s thick fur then slipped upward to fondle the rapidly flicking ears. “I’m um, I’m gonna be staying here for a while. Couple months. Maybe more.”

Derek whined and inched up the bed, butting his nose against Stiles’ jaw; he licked a wet stripe up the teen’s cheek, then settled his head on Stiles’ narrow shoulder, nose tucked behind his ear.

“You won’t be able to come see me for a while. They’re gonna move me up to the psych…” He paused when the door opened and a blond nurse poked her head in, brow arching at the sight of the big black wolf all snuggled up with Stiles.

“Checks,” she said, pursing her lips briefly.

“Psych ward,” Stiles finished when she closed the door. 

“Going to run a bunch of tests like the MMPI and a depression inventory, that kind of thing. Dad’s gonna work out a deal with school so I don’t fall too far behind but the Doc’s already warned me that I won’t be doing a full course load; thinks it’ll interfere with my recovery. Probably gonna put me on meds. God, Der, I’m gonna be a zombie.” Sighing, Stiles tightened his arm around Derek’s neck. 

Stiles’ skin tingled as the transformation swept over Derek’s form and he found himself with an armful of moody teen boy. “Stiles… There was nothing going on between me and Isaac. He’s my friend. Like my brother. His dad beat the shit out of him and he just kinda showed up at my house day before yesterday, then stuck to me like glue at school. You saw us just after his dad showed up looking for him.” 

“It’s just…” Stiles sucked in a ragged breath. “Is he the one?”

Derek propped himself up on an elbow and Stiles loosened his grip, fingers toying with the short hair at the back of the other’s head. “The one? No. God, no, Stiles!” Derek shook his head helplessly and brushed back the teen’s hair.

“No?” Stiles voice cracked and he closed his eyes as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“No,” Derek muttered fiercely. “Jeez.” Huffing, Derek swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up, his back to Stiles. “This has to stop, Stiles. This is the third time you’ve been admitted to the hospital in the last year. That first time… That first time I thought I was gonna lose it.” Swallowing hard, Derek dropped his head into his hands and propped his elbows on his wide-spread knees. “How many times have you cut?”

Stiles squirmed and fisted his hand in the back of Derek’s t-shirt. “Um. Couple times a week, sometimes more. I uh… It’s like the only way I can feel sometimes. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed and so… So tied up inside and it’s like I lose myself.” 

“When you cut, that’s when you avoid me, right?”

“Yeah. You’d smell it on me if I didn’t and I really didn’t want you to know.”

Licking his lips, Derek turned slightly so he could see Stiles’ face. “That first time you ended up in the hospital… That was because of me, wasn’t it? Because of what I said.”

“What? No. No! It’s… It’s me, Der. I’m fucked up. You’re my friend. You’ve always been my friend. I just…” Stiles shrugged and bit at his lower lip. “I cut the day of my mom’s funeral. That was the first time and it made me feel better. It was like a pressure release and after that, I couldn’t stop.” 

“You could have died, Stiles. That time. This time. Last time. You cut so deep this time that they had to give you a transfusion.”

“This time was different,” the teen mumbled, smoothing the creases he’d made in Derek’s shirt. “I didn’t want to… I wanted everything to stop. Didn’t wanna feel any more.”

“You were trying to kill yourself.” Derek bit out the words, swallowing bile. “Why? Because you saw me hugging Isaac? You were jealous?”

“I thought you’d be better off without me around. You’re always here for me. Always. It’s like… It’s like I take up your entire life and I can tell that you’re not happy. That I’m hurting you.” 

“Way to justify it, Stiles.” Derek pushed to his feet and jammed his hands into his front pockets. “I love you. So much and you can’t even see it. You always jump to the wrong conclusion and… I gotta go. I’ll come see you as soon as they’ll let me.”

“Der… Please.” Stiles voice cracked and he swallowed a sob, breaking when Derek slipped out of the room and closed the door. 

“He’s probably going to need…” Derek sighed and scrubbed angrily at his face before gesturing at the closed door. “Yeah.”

Derek’s shoulders hunched as Stiles started screaming and Mrs. McCall hurried passed him into the room. He looked up at his mom helplessly and melted into her embrace as Talia wrapped an arm around his shaking shoulders, leading him away.


	4. Author Note

This piece - which I started with every intent to finish - has become very hard for me to work on. The subject matter is extremely personal and I have, at this point, opted to take an extended break so that I might work on other projects which are, for me as a writer, less emotionally heavy. 

I understand that several have subscribed and to them I apologize but at this time I do not have it in me to finish this work. This is not to say that I will not pick it up again in the future, but for now, I need to let it go.

Thank you for your understanding!


End file.
